


Love Possibly

by Gem_Gem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Attempt at humour, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Romance, Boys Kissing, First Dates, Fluff, Fluff and Humour, Ice Skating, John Loves Sherlock, Johnlock Fluff, Kissing, Loving John, M/M, Mentions of BAMF Mycroft, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Sexual Abuse, Protective John, Rating May Change, References of sexual abuse, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock falls asleep on John, Sherlock is a Mess, Sherlock is unused to tenderness, mentions of past physical abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-17 03:32:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5852401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John loves Sherlock. Possibly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I rated it teen and left it at just a one-shot because I honestly cannot seem to carry it on at the moment...however, I may come back to this and add chapters and put up the ratings. I had a huge thing planned but once I wrote this chapter I couldn't seem to go any further.  
> Let me know what you think. I thought to post it so you could maybe jog something in my head. Kick my Muse up the arse for me. Talking to people helps me. Talking and planning and writing with people is a big thing that aids my writing.  
> I'm up for discussing or planning more of this with you lovely people. For instance, who do you think Sherlock is mentioning who abused him? Do you think it's a random stranger or someone they've met?
> 
> Also, I'm sorry about adding that. The story just went that way. Sometimes stories just go places...

John glanced over at Sherlock lounging in his chair and took a shaky, nervous breath, scratching his jaw and cheek, “Um. Sherlock…I need to talk to you – to tell you something.”

“Hm – Yes. I know. You’ve been itching to tell me something for the past four hours now. It was getting ridiculous and annoying,” Sherlock drawled. “Glad you finally gathered enough nerve to get it over and done with.”

“Right. Yeah. Okay,” John muttered with a longsuffering exhale. “It’s a…personal and…delicate subject, so I didn’t know how best to start.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Sounds dull.”

“It’s not dull – It’s just difficult to—”

“Boring.”

“It’s not—!”

Sherlock rolled his head on his shoulders and the back of his chair irritably, “Just come out with it! Obviously it’s—”

“I’m bisexual!” John exclaimed and swallowed thickly when Sherlock jerked up and blinked rapidly over at him in shock. “I think.”

Sherlock arched his eyebrow and sat up properly, “You think?”

“Yeah…” John sighed, rubbing his face and adjusting his position anxiously.

“You don’t know for sure?”

“I…no. No. I don’t think so.”

Sherlock scowled in confusion and leaned forward, “How can you not know?—And furthermore, why on earth are you telling me?”

“Because it…it’s to do with you,” John confessed with a grimace and a nervous squint.

“Me?” 

“You.”

Sherlock tilted his head in puzzlement, “How?”

“Because,” John muttered, fiddling with his sleeve and staring at his feet as he carried on in an almost inaudible murmur, “I fancy you.”

Sherlock blinked and sat back slowly, “No you don’t.”

“I…I rather think I do.”

“You don’t sound terribly confident in all of this,” Sherlock scoffed, “making it very hard for me to be convinced that what you’re feeling is truly correct.”

John cringed back into his chair and looked away, gripping and then drumming at the armrests, “I’ve had…dreams.”

“…Sexual dreams,” Sherlock deduced, sighing exaggeratedly with a wide swipe of a dismissive arm and hand. “So what. Dreams don’t mean diddly-squat – When I was a child, I dreamt that a rabbit stood up on its hind legs and demanded I say the alphabet backwards in under 5 seconds.” 

Snorting, John shook his head and rubbed his forehead, “This is different. These are consistent. I’ve had them for a while now and…and I, um, I also…sort of…look…at you.”

“Still proves nothing—”

“I stare at your arse, okay?” John said in a frustrated burst of words. “I…just stare at it. Whenever you…turn around or…or bend down or something, I’m constantly staring at it – Do you know how perfect your bloody arse is? I’ve been out with some women with fantastic arses before, but God, yours is just…it’s…it’s sinful!”

Sherlock gaped at John for a second and then cleared his throat, crossing his legs, “That still does not—”

“You honestly think that’s normal? For a straight man to stare longingly at his male flatmate’s arse?” John huffed, rubbing at the flush on his cheeks. “And I want to…to kiss you—Whenever you’re standing just a little too close to me, I want to grab you and kiss you. What does that say?”

“All right,” Sherlock mumbled in a whisper, clearing his throat again but looking at John with a forced expression of detachment. “Well, what exactly do you hope to achieve by telling me this? – You’re not so stupid as to think this will change anything between us?”

John glared, “It already has changed things – Sherlock, I stare at your arse, want to kiss you, have a whole range of erotic dreams about you, and have become sexually aroused physically by you on more than one occasion.”

Sherlock regarded John for a minute of silence and then leaned forward again, “You only just ended it with Laura—”

“Lauren.”

“—last week,” Sherlock said, narrowing his eyes.

John nodded, “Yes. Yeah, and do you know why?” he asked, not waiting for Sherlock to even try and reply as he leaned forward as well and pointed at him. “Because I did that stupid, clichéd thing of calling out your bloody name during intercourse – And to make matters worse, it was intercourse where I had asked her to bugger me up the soddin’ arse!”

Sherlock blanched and John felt his heart skip in humiliation, “You…called out my name whilst she was—?”

John sighed and hung his head, “Yeah…”

“And so you…want me to…?”

“Yeah,” John shrugged, feeling sick and so embarrassed that he slouched to be as small as he felt. “I want everything, really. For you to do me, or me to do you—Oh Christ, look, I…I had to tell you because I…don’t know what to do. I’m lost and confused, and normally, when I feel like this, I go to a close friend, you know? A best friend – But that’s you. You happen to be both my problem and my solution.”

Sherlock tucked his chin down, “I see.”

“So,” John breathed, shrinking even further, “What do you suggest?”

“Nothing. You’ll get over it,” Sherlock told him coldly. “Don’t give me that look – What did you expect? You told me so you could try and find an end to it, didn’t you? Not to do something as ludicrous as to start some sort of horrid relationship with me? I’m still married to my work, John. – Once again, I’m flattered, but relationships are not my area. And I’m sure it’s not the first time that you’ve felt certain things toward someone that you have no chance of getting with either. – Things will fade with time. It’s just lust, and lust never lasts.”

John clenched his jaw and nodded briskly, “Why do you think this has suddenly happened though? I was never interested in men before. – Well, okay, I was curious once upon a time, but it never went anywhere because I wasn’t that curious, you know? And that was way back, I was a kid—There was this lad, Brendon, and he, um, well, I thought he was really pretty, for a boy. I suppose you could say I had a crush on him but—”

“I’m not interested,” Sherlock told him with a curt tone. “You’re feelings for me will pass. Our friendship will remain more or less intact. And you’ll find another abhorrent woman to have relations with.”

“Right,” John breathed through his teeth, glaring down at the floor and feeling completely and utterly stupid. What did he expect, really? He should have gone to Greg; it would have been less humiliating and tragic.

“Did you…really want us to—?”

“I don’t know what I wanted,” John interrupted, faintly sarcastic and panicked. “I just felt like I had to tell you that you have a great arse and that my feelings for you are not platonic any longer – I know I can forget about it. I can. You’re right, I have dealt with liking someone I could never have before, but they were never as close to me as you are. I live with you. I see you everyday. There isn’t a moment when I’m not thinking about you—”

Sherlock tensed with a loud sigh and looked away sharply as he spoke, “Fine. I will…try it. With you. For a week,” he said, avoiding John’s shockingly confused gaze. “Perhaps you will change your mind by then. After seeing what I’m like – You thought being my friend was hard work, it’s nothing compared to how I am in a relationship.”

“You’ve…been in many before then? Relationships?” John whispered, still in a state of shock.

“Yes. If you can call them relationships,” Sherlock replied. “I know I’m overly difficult to be around and live with, but it’s comparatively ten times worse when I’m expected to do things considered overly sentimental. I’m not really sexual in nature, either. – I hardly ever masturbate, and although I’ve experimented with a few things sexually, I have not done anything for years. It took me a long time to even get around to penetrative sex – I tried first with a girl, as shocking as that might be to consider, and I couldn’t go through with it. I was unable to sustain an erection.”

John frowned faintly, “You weren’t aroused by her?”

“I thought I was, or enough to have sex with her at any rate, but I got bored half way through her undressing. Everything was just so dull and mediocre. There was nothing interesting about her once I had seen her nude, she was just another body, another person, and she was stupidly submissive and insecure once she was naked, not at all like she had been before. – I had picked her because she had been smart, very smart, and very interesting. She and I could hold a decent enough conversation without me wanting to bang my head against a brick wall, and she had a fascinating home life. She also would not get easily offended with the things I said, and seemed to hold the same sort of ideals as I did. So I liked her. Found her very attractive, mentally attractive. And I had assumed I’d also find her stimulating physically – However, I did not.”

“Hm,” John eyed him with a blush and shifted in his seat awkwardly. “Ever tried things with a…man?”

Sherlock turned his head at an angle to look at John from the corner of his eyes and lifted one shoulder in a half shrug, “Yes. I experimented, as I said.”

“…And?” John asked when he had hoped Sherlock would go on like he had about the girl. “What…did you do? Um, did you find that as unexciting?”

Sherlock looked down at the floor, clenching the fingers of his right hand. “I’ve only ever had three real relationships – and by real, I mean that I actively allowed myself to be called someone’s “boyfriend,” or that I liked them enough to acknowledge there was something between them and me; the other relationships I’ve had since were done for the sole purpose of gathering information, mostly for a case, and so I don’t see them as being relevant.”

“I should be horrified and annoyed that you would use someone like that, but seeing as it’s you…I can’t really, can I? – All right, go on, you were saying?” John said, waving his hand when Sherlock glowered. 

“My first relationship, was with a girl, as I’ve said, which lasted quite a long time, though it was generally more due to the fact that we both used it as a means to be left alone by others,” Sherlock rumbled, brushing invisible lint from his trouser leg. “My second was with a girl as well, but it didn’t last quite as long because she had to move back to her native country, her family’s decision more than hers – And the third, and last, was with a boy…”

John frowned when Sherlock trailed off, “Did it…end badly or something?”

“You could say that. He abused me,” Sherlock intoned outright, his face a perfect, impassive mask, “and I was actually stupid enough to do nothing about it for a long, long while. I thought it was worth it, you see, to be with him, and that it was nothing I couldn’t handle. I thought he didn’t mean it or some other kind of stupid, idiotic drivel like that. I was disgustingly naïve, and he had a way with words. He could make you believe something, even feel something, and was extremely good at inveigling people in and out of things for his personal gain. Twisting words and controlling situations, things like that.”

“Did he,” John said, taking a breath to calm a sudden spike of anger at a person he’d never known about until that moment, “did he sexually abuse you?”

Sherlock seemed to ponder the question and John felt a surge of protective rage explode in his chest, “I suppose he did, yes.”

John felt a cold shudder zip up his spine and clenched both hands into a fist, “And he used to hit you?”

“And kick me,” Sherlock huffed with a humourless laugh. “He verbally, psychologically and physically abused me. And I let him – No one knew either, not of our relationship or about the abuse. – Well, no one but Mycroft. I remember being so ashamed when he finally found out, which he only did because I was in the hospital at the time. He told me how much of an idiot I had been and then he went off and… did something to him, though I still don’t know to this day what it was he actually did. It possibly had been some type of blackmail of some sort, knowing my brother. All I know is that he left me after that. And I vowed not to get caught up into something so pitiable and foolish again.”

“…You sure he’s not dead?” John asked, shrugging when Sherlock looked at him properly. “Hey, can you really blame me for asking? This is Mycroft – Maybe he hired someone to slap the guy around for a few hours.”

Sherlock’s mouth twitched, “He’s not dead. I’ve seen him since.”

“Where?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Sherlock said, lifting his chin with a narrowing of his eyes, ending the few hundred questions piling on the tip of John’s tongue with one look. He looked detached and closed offish and John pushed down hard on the anger and urge to find out exactly where this man was to have a few choice words with him.

“Okay,” John whispered and shot him a smile, timidly sliding a hand through his hair. “So, um, you and me then? A week, you said? – I mean, we don’t have to, and now that I know all of that, well—”

“I already agreed,” Sherlock sniffed.

“I know but…we…don’t really have to.”

“I know.”

“All right,” John licked his lips, “…and you still want to give it a go?”

Sherlock exhaled through his nose in annoyance, “Yes.”

“For a week?”

“Yes!”

John couldn’t help the grin that stretched his face at Sherlock’s desperately exasperated tone, “That’s good. Yeah, fine. – Can I…um…give you a hug then? Or a kiss?”

Sherlock shrank back in his chair but eyed John with a sharp and interested gaze, “Why?”

“Why not?” John countered, then sighed and patted his armrest idly, squirming under Sherlock’s scrutiny. “And I’ve wanted to kiss you for ages, remember? Just…every time you look at me or lean over my shoulder or smile at me or scowl at me or—”

“All right, I get the idea,” Sherlock mumbled, nodding his head. “Fine.”

John rubbed his palms against his thighs a few times and then got up with a soft grunt, strolling over to Sherlock, “…Are you just going to sit there?”

“Yes.”

John crossed his arms and adjusted his stance self-consciously, “Could you at least lean forward?”

Sherlock smirked faintly and shuffled to the edge of his chair slowly, “At least this way we’re the same height, right?” he teased.

“I have no problem changing the kiss to a punch in the face,” John told him sternly and bent down after a brief, uneasy moment to cup Sherlock’s jaw and tip up his chin. He glanced up into Sherlock’s eyes; almost asking permission again, and then took a breath, ignored his racing heart, and kissed Sherlock softly on the mouth.

“Good enough?” Sherlock asked when he pulled back from it barely a second later, smiling briefly at the look on John’s face, before he jumped to his feet, nearly head-butting John in the process as he was still slightly bent down. “Perhaps that’s already—?”

John grabbed him by the arm and tugged him back, “Nice try – Let’s kiss for real this time.”

“What?”

“That wasn’t a proper kiss, Sherlock,” John told him, grasping hold of his collar and pulling him around, wondering if he should go in for a hug instead. “That’s the kind of kiss you give your mother.”

Sherlock scowled, “Who kisses their mother on the mouth?”

“You’ve been in relationships, real and fake, you know how to kiss someone, you must do,” John complained and after taking another breath of confidence, he cupped Sherlock’s face in his hands and brought him in for another kiss, keeping him in place by curling one hand around the back of his neck.

“…I could be wrong, but isn’t it considered bad form to kiss on the first date?” Sherlock said between presses of lips, his hands brushing into John’s sides temporarily and then resting on his hips.

John sighed through his nose, “This isn’t a first date.”

“Exactly my point,” Sherlock replied, suddenly shivering when John stroked his fingertips down his jaw and then up into his hair.

In the next moment they were stumbling into the fireplace with a collective groan, pushing closer to one another and straining the fabric of their shirts with each other’s fingers. John delved his fingers deeper into Sherlock’s hair and angled him for a better, wetter and deeper kiss, his knees all but buckling as Sherlock whimpered low and deep and energetic, and succumbed eagerly. With his nose pushed into Sherlock’s cheek, John moaned and turned them around, leading Sherlock across the room and pushing him down onto the settee. They wrestled for dominance there, almost falling to the floor, and John pulled back as he pinned down Sherlock’s wrists with a playful grin.

“I let you win,” Sherlock said, his chest heaving and his face flushed. 

John lifted his brow, “Mm, sure you did.”

“I did.”

Sarcasm was so thick on his tongue that John swallowed and licked his lips, “Hm – Yeah.”

Sherlock arched his eyebrow and shifted his head on a folded settee cushion, “You think I can’t take you?”

“No, no. I don’t think you can’t take me,” John said, his grin widening as he leaned back down to Sherlock. “I know you can’t.”

Sherlock glared half-heartedly, but didn’t fight the accusation, and dropped one leg off the settee with a soft thud, “This is highly uncomfortable – May we get up now?”

John glanced around nervously and then sat up, gradually letting him go, “Are you my “boyfriend” now?” he asked with a dizzy huff at the prospect, suddenly feeling embarrassed all over again. His eyes widened when he noticed Sherlock wincing and rubbing his back as he straightened, and guilt slammed into him roughly at the sight. “Oh, shit! I didn’t mean to be rough with you. I don’t want to hurt you—I didn’t hurt you, did I? God, why didn’t you tell me about your past before? You know almost everything there is to know about mine.”

“Be quiet,” Sherlock complained as he sat and pushed into John’s side, “It was years ago. I’m over it and you are not him. I trust you – And yes, I am your “boyfriend” now, but only for a week—Gosh that word is positively ghastly. Do people still use it at our age? Sounds exceptionally immature.”

John laughed lightly and nodded, looking away as he slipped his hand into Sherlock’s with a coy expression and a twitching smile, “…Two weeks.”

“No. One week, we decided.”

“No, you decided,” John argued and squeezed Sherlock’s hand with a flare of affection, lifting their joined hands to kiss and breathe against Sherlock’s knuckles. “Two weeks.”

“By the end of the week you’ll see how bad I am at—”

John turned to face Sherlock in impatience and lifted his brow, leaning in until their shoulders bumped, “Two weeks.”

“John…” Sherlock sighed, looking doubtful until John kissed his knuckles again and turned his expression dreamy and languid. “You really don’t want this…”

“I really do,” John whispered with a blush, reaching over with his free hand to stroke Sherlock’s cheek and neck. “…Three weeks.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and smiled openly, “Fine. However long you want—”

“Don’t say that,” John laughed, kissing Sherlock’s hand again and then inclining into him to kiss his lips, happy to finally be able to do so after so long of pinning and dreaming. “Sherlock…Will you go out with me?”

Closing his eyes slowly, Sherlock returned John’s soft and chaste kisses before he replied with one wispy word, “Yes.”

“Will you,” John carried on, grinning when Sherlock opened one eye shrewdly, “go on a date with me? Tomorrow?”

“…What day is it tomorrow?” Sherlock asked with a soft frown, glancing sideways in thought and then looking down at their entwined hands. “I might be busy.”

“Shut up, you’re not busy,” John snorted and rested back with a low sound of happiness, stroking his free hand through Sherlock’s hair and sighing, “God I fancy you a lot…you have no idea, do you?”

“Obviously not.”

“Well, I do.”

“…All right.”

“So much,” John rambled, and suddenly gathered Sherlock into a tight embrace, pushing his face into his neck with a shuddering and contented hum, “I’ve wanted to do this for so bloody long – Weeks and weeks. I hated being with Laura—”

“Lauren.”

“—Whatever,” John smirked, kissing the skin just behind Sherlock’s ear and tightening his hold on him, huffing in amusement and vague sadness when Sherlock awkwardly patted him on the back in response. “Not used to this, huh?”

Sherlock ducked his head, “No. Not really.”

John kissed his exposed nape and held him just a little more tightly; pulling Sherlock into him, “Sit on my lap.”

“What? No!” Sherlock laughed shortly, fighting John for only a moment before giving in and straddling John’s legs with a grumble and a grimace, sitting back on his knees with an unimpressed look in his eyes. “This is ridiculous.”

“Sit closer,” John giggled, feeling dizzy, and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist, kissing his clothed chest as he nuzzled at the steady vibration of his heartbeat. “Christ, you’re nice and warm and lovely.”

Sherlock allowed John to pull him flush against his body and then slumped his head down on John’s shoulder, closing his eyes on a heavy exhale, “What if you don’t “like” me by the time this is over?”

“You’re a moron,” John replied, kissing every inch of Sherlock within reach and smoothing his hands up and down his back. Sherlock seemed unused to each and every affectionate and gentle touch, so John tugged on his knees to bring Sherlock that bit closer, sharing body heat as he held him tighter still with an addicting swell of emotion. “As I’ve not run screaming from you already, chances are I never will—Are you tired? How long have you been up for?”

“…No,” he murmured, tucking his arms between their bodies warmly and pushing his forehead into John’s neck. 

“No?”

“No.”

John arched an unseen eyebrow at Sherlock and basked in the heady scent of him for a silent minute, “…I like you.”

Sherlock took a long, deep breath and shifted a little against him, “Yes. You’ve said.”

“I like you a lot,” John whispered with a languorous smile, kissing his ear and nudging at a few errant curls that bounced and tickled the slope of his nose. “A lot, a lot.”

“Shut up.”

John rested his mouth on the hinge of Sherlock’s jaw, impulsively rocking them to unheard music, “…This is the part where you tell me that you like me a lot too.”

Sherlock’s mouth twitched into a smile fleetingly, “Is it now?” he mumbled, turning his head away and pushing his hair into John’s face. “Even when I’ve been coerced into it all?”

“Oi,” John laughed curtly with a frown and pressed Sherlock’s hair back to try and look into his face, “I hope that’s a joke?—You don’t feel like I’ve forced everything on you, do you? Look, if you…don’t feel…you know…if you don’t like me that way then I…”

After a moment of jostling from John’s shoulder and hand, Sherlock glanced at him and then clutched at the front of his jumper, pushing his nose and mouth to the underside of John’s jaw, “…I like you.”

“…Do you? I mean, enough to…enough for this?” John asked, feeling nervous again and glancing aside when his thoughts returned to Sherlock’s abusive past. He glared and felt anger bubble in his gut, and so seized Sherlock closer. “I don’t want you to feel like—”

“Oh shut up, John—I told you. You’re not him. I trust you. I’m not that stupid little boy anymore,” Sherlock snapped, but kept his body lethargic and his face against John’s throat.

“But Sherlock—”

“Enough!”

John grimaced and sighed, stroking his hands up and down Sherlock’s back again, “Fine,” he muttered quietly. “but I—”

Sherlock made a series of loud and incoherent mumbles to interrupt him and then quietened again, breathing steadying down the neckline of John’s jumper in the heavy silence that followed, until he gradually slumped and became somewhat heavier. John frowned and stroked the back of Sherlock’s neck and head, trying to angle his head enough to look at Sherlock’s face without jostling him too badly.

“Sherlock?” He whispered softly, and when there was no answer but a soft snore a minute later, John leaned his head back on the settee headrest and closed his eyes with a wide smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 4am so I apologise in advance for any mistakes
> 
> Love you all

“So,” John grinned the next day at exactly twelve o’clock in the afternoon, his favourite shirt tucked into his best-priced trousers, “We have a lunch date. Get your shoes on.”

Sherlock lifted his gaze from where they were fixated into the middle distance and arched one, single eyebrow at him, “I told you that I might be busy.”

“And I told you, that you’re not,” John said and motioned at where Sherlock was crouched on his chair, with his fingers pressed together under his chin, “you’re just sitting there. You’ve been sitting there all morning.”

“Yes, and?” Sherlock asked arrogantly with an exasperated tone and a forced, tight smile that made John recoil in annoyance until it dropped from his face. “I’m working. Go away.”

“Working?” John repeated with a scoff, gesturing angrily and absentmindedly at nothing. “Working on what, exactly? – You have no case that I know of.”

“Precisely,” Sherlock murmured, “none that you know of. Now, off you trot.”

John stared at Sherlock for a full minute of silence, and then strode over, cupped his face and kissed him until Sherlock fumbled and fell awkwardly on his backside in his chair, “I like you,” John began, pointing a finger at Sherlock sternly as he blinked up at John with wide eyes, “I like you a hell of a lot. I like you and I know you, so this little stunt doesn’t irritate me as much as you want it to do, and it certainly won’t send or push me away—I spent quite some time yesterday explaining my…feelings towards you, feelings that I was hugely embarrassed and scared of for a long…long time; and first you sat there and shot me down and then you agreed to date me for however long I wanted us to be together—”

“That is not accurately what I agreed to!”

“—We are going on a date, and we’re doing it now. Get your shoes and your coat, and flip the stupid collar up like a prat, and let’s go,” John told him and waited for Sherlock to frown deeply before bending and then kissing him again, “I know you want to go on a date with me, no matter what you say. Get your things.”

Sherlock sighed through his nose and peered through his lashes with an unimpressed and stubborn expression, but as John backed up, Sherlock got to his feet, adjusted his jacket and stalked off to slip on and tie his shoes, heading for his coat. John grinned and followed him, cornering him in the hallway near the front door and cupping the back of his neck with one hand until Sherlock paused and looked at him in question. Sherlock’s pupils were dilated and the pulse in his neck, where John was subtly resting his thumb, was rapidly thumping. Pushing his hand up into Sherlock’s curls to ruffle his hair, a motion he’d always wanted to do from the moment he’d met the aloof and strange detective, John kissed him once again, choosing to give the plush curve of his bottom lip in as much attention as possible, and then reached to open the door and flag down a taxi.

“You’ve booked a place,” Sherlock stated as John failed to catch the eye of three taxi cabs in a row, “It must be a place you know that I’d like – Can’t be Angelo’s, as we’ve been there and we could easily walk to it from here…”

“Stop it,” John told him as yet another taxi ignored his waving arm, “No deducing where we’re going. Just…enjoy the surprise, for once.”

“It won’t be anywhere you’ve taken past girlfriends…would it?”

“Sherlock,” John said through his teeth, glaring over at him, “stop.”

Sherlock pressed his lips together and stepped up close to John’s side, lifting his hand to easily and effortlessly catch the attention of the next taxi, “This is all so pointless, you realise?”

“No, it isn’t,” John told him and held him back to mutter their destination to cabbie before letting him climb into the back, ignoring the amused look Sherlock flashed his way as he got comfortable. “Shut up. It’s a big thing. This...thing. It deserves a nice meal out. You know, a different sort of meal with a different atmosphere than the normal everyday meals that we’ve had before…”

Sherlock shrewdly eyed John and lifted his brow, “…You’re not going to propose to me are you?”

“Quiet,” John muttered at Sherlock’s playfully teasing tone, but smiled at him and reached across the seats to pick up his hand and entwine their fingers. “I’ll leave that until the next meal…need to get a ring and that first.”

John grinned widely at Sherlock’s anxious face and squeezed his hand, caressing Sherlock’s knuckles over and over with a faint shake of his head, laughing lowly when Sherlock blew out a relieved breath and slumped back in his seat. The rest of the taxi ride was silent and comfortable, and John pulled their intertwined hands close to his lap happily, feeling a growing, heavy weight of affection in his chest that made his next few breaths shaky and layered with emotion without his control. Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned to stare outside the window in response, but John wasn’t put off and instead lifted Sherlock’s hand to kiss his fingers gently, inhaling the scent of his skin and then pushing the back of Sherlock’s hand against his rapidly beating heart.

When they finally got out to a normal looking restaurant with normal tables and normal décor, John tried not to smirk at Sherlock’s brief crestfallen expression, “Come on,” he muttered and ignored his instant impulse to take up Sherlock’s hand again when Sherlock pulled away, “You will be eating, and you will like it. – You’ll also have dessert. Lots of yummy dessert.”

“Are you trying to fatten me up?”

“Always,” John told him truthfully with a stern and pointed look at Sherlock’s body, leading Sherlock into the restaurant and checking his own coat pockets briefly before finding their booked table and pulling out Sherlock’s chair for him.

Sherlock gave him an annoyed look but shrugged out of his coat and sat down, “I’m not another one of your—”

“Monotonous girlfriends,” John finished for him, mimicking Sherlock’s posh and deep voice the best he could while seating himself and smiling tightly at Sherlock’s unimpressed face, “I know the difference, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked petulant and unconvinced, “You don’t need to treat me any different, you know.”

“Sure I do,” John replied as he picked up the menu idly, skimming through the food and inspecting the prices, “I like you. Like you a lot. A lot, a lot.”

“Will you stop saying that?” Sherlock protested tightly.

“Nope.” John glanced over the top of the menu with arched eyebrows at Sherlock’s grumpy snort and watched him ruffle his curls and look around. “What’s wrong? The place not up to your standards? Expecting something else, were you?”

Sherlock shrugged and played with the tablecloth, leaning on his elbows impolitely, “Perhaps,” he mumbled and frowned, gaze going distant as he tried to work something out in his head, his head tilting in such a way that the lights in the restaurant outlined his curls and the slope of his cheekbone in gold, “I really wish you wouldn’t treat me any differently…”

John narrowed his eyes at him and then placed down the menu to lean across to him, “What’s wrong? – Sherlock, of course I’ll be treating you somewhat differently. You’re my… my boyfriend now. It won’t be horrendously different. You’re still you and I’m still me, so, things will still be as they were…I’ll just be free to hold your hand or kiss you or...” John gestured pointlessly as he trailed off and shrugged when Sherlock looked at him in question. “Don’t you…want me to do all that? You do…enjoy it, don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock sighed, looking torn, and lowered his gaze, “I don’t know about this – I liked how things were before.”

“Do you not like this at all then?” John asked with a sudden lump in his throat, his chest aching uncomfortably. “I…I’m not going to force you to—”

“I don’t know,” Sherlock cut in and stared down at his knees, looking so vulnerable and lost that John swallowed thickly and sat back. Sherlock didn’t utter another word until a waitress who had come over to take their orders left. “I do like you, John.”

John glanced over at him hopefully, “Good. That’s…okay, so, what’s wrong?”

“I’ve not done it like this,” Sherlock mumbled and winced, glaring off to the side, “Everything is new and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Not yet. I thought about it, over and over again, but I…”

“Do you like it when I touch you or hold your hand?”

Sherlock rolled one shoulder and sighed, “It’s not like we haven’t touched before. I’m used to that…”

“Do you like it when I…kiss you then?” John whispered.

“…Yes,” Sherlock replied after a long, tense pause. “Yes. I do. It’s…nice.”

John felt his mouth curve up on one side and cocked his head, “Just nice?”

“I was never taken on a date,” Sherlock suddenly told him, “Out of all three relationships, I was never taken on a date. – With the girls, we were more interested in reading together or…working. We’d sit for hours and just do things, individually, but together. We’d talk. I’d teach them something—The second girl taught me how to speak Spanish, whilst I helped her understand arithmetic. But…but we never spent money over the other, we never did any of the romantic rubbish that people are expected to do when in a relationship. We hardly even courted beforehand.” Sherlock pressed his mouth together and his entire face went blank. “And my last relationship, well, because it was basically some dark secret, nothing we did was that amorous. He never once…”

John relaxed his fisted hands at Sherlock sudden eye contact and watched as Sherlock’s face softened and then shuttered again, “Sherlock,” John said when Sherlock said no more. “Sherlock. I want to do this. I want to do this for and to you. I want to show you how much I—”

“I don’t want you to do what you would do with a woman,” Sherlock snapped unexpectedly, flicking his eyes around instead of looking at John properly, “I’m not a woman. I’m not someone you can date in an effort to bed – I shan’t be some conquest of yours. I will not be someone you can fawn over just so you can get a leg over.” 

John blinked and shook his head in confusion, “What makes you think I’ll do any of that? – You…you’re my best friend and…and I’d never…never do anything like that. This isn’t about getting into bed with you, Sherlock. This…this isn’t about sex.”

“No?”

“No!”

Sherlock’s eyes flashed as he glared at him, “You told me that you’ve thought of me sexually for weeks now. That you’ve had dreams about me, about us. That you can’t stop looking at my arse! – What do you think that says to me?—What’s your end game? What do you expect out of all of this? After you’ve taken me to meals and hugged and kissed and drooled over me, then what? What do you want, John?”

“Calm down,” John told him evenly and reached out for his arm, looking away when Sherlock jerked back, “Sherlock – You honestly think that I see you as nothing more than… another body?”

“…No,” Sherlock conceded and grimaced, turning in his chair a little in embarrassment. “I don’t know.”

Sherlock looked scared and meek and John held out his hand, “You’re overthinking this,” he said gently and wriggled his fingers a little to gain Sherlock’s attention, “I like you, Sherlock. We could end up not having any sex at all and I’d be all right, as long as…I’m…you know, as long as I’m with you—And yes, I know how cliché and cheesy that sounded, okay? You mean more to me than getting my end away.”

Snorting softly, Sherlock glanced down at John’s outstretched hand for a minute and then turned to slide his hand over John’s palm, “What if I said that, then? No sex. I don’t like it or want it.”

“As long as I can still kiss and hold you, I’m fine,” John said honestly and quickly entwined their fingers, letting out a shaky breath, “I really like you, Sherlock. You. All of you – And yes even your bum, but it’s you that I…that I like the most. That massive intellect.”

“If you say so,” Sherlock muttered just before their food arrived and pulled his hand away to tuck into his food silently, his head bowed.

John stared at Sherlock a moment longer, feeling a little angrier with the nameless man who’d hurt Sherlock so much. He wondered who it might have been and tried to recall all the men that they’d met and see since living together, but realised quite quickly that Sherlock could have seen the ex at any point, even before he’d known John. With a sigh through his nose, John kept their conversation light and off topic, trying to coax Sherlock into regaling past cases with him until their desserts arrived. Sherlock was tense and slightly withdrawn but obliged John with a soft smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Once they were finished and John had paid, John smiled widely at Sherlock as he shrugged on his coat and took up his hand quickly, “Come on,” he said and was happy when Sherlock looked at him with sudden intrigue. “Yeah, the dates not over yet.”

“We’re walking there?” Sherlock murmured as he was steered along the pavement. “So it’s close. Close enough for us to walk—”

“Not really,” John admitted as they went, checking his wrist briefly, “But I thought that maybe we can make a…nice…romantic time of it?”

Sherlock arched his eyebrow, “Of walking?”

“Of walking,” John nodded. “See the sights, you know.”

“The sights? Sights that we’ve already seen more times than I care to count, because we live here? Those sights?”

“The very same!”

Sherlock huffed but smiled at John and strolled closely with him, their pace slow and steady as they meandered easily around people mingling and darting down the street. They were both silent, comfortable enough to share in each others presence without so much as a word, and John grinned uncontrollably, squeezing Sherlock’s hand and all but worshipping his long, warm, and callused fingers with his own stubby and thick ones. He felt giddy with affection and happy to be able to enjoy Sherlock’s touch and company openly, uncaring of whoever noticed their joined hands and his infatuated expression, it was just Sherlock and John against the world. It had been torture in the days, weeks, months, that John had realised his feelings for Sherlock but was scared and unable to voice or admit them. Each day had been a tug at his heart, a strain on his mind, and he wondered vaguely why Sherlock hadn’t noticed anything had been amiss before he’d decided to finally bring it up for conversation.

Sherlock was paying attention to the pavement when John noticed where they finally were and steered them around a corner and down another street, smiling when Sherlock looked at him in confusion and then followed John’s gesture to look up at the building they were standing opposite from. 

“Somerset House?” Sherlock said, blinking and glancing to and from John and the building before his expression cleared in realisation and he tilted his head, “The Ice Rink? You…you want to go ice-skating with me? That’s you’re big plan? That’s what you dragged me all the way to—”

“Have you ever done it before?” John asked, cutting Sherlock off and delving into his coat pocket to wave two tickets in Sherlock’s direction with a sudden flare of arrogance.

“…No.”

“I have,” John said smugly and pulled Sherlock by the hand, “Come on.”

Sherlock followed John but cringed in anxiousness as he looked around, “I really don’t think—”

“You’ll be fine. You’re a good dancer, so you already have the poise, balance and elegance down, it won’t take you long to learn how to transfer it all into the blades on your feet,” John told him, smiling again when Sherlock looked at him quickly, “What? You think I’ve not noticed? Sometimes you don’t walk, but glide. Especially when you’re happy. You’ve got this grace and composure about you that could only come from being a good dancer.”

“Oh,” Sherlock exhaled with a blush and a series of quick blinks.

“Yes, “oh,” now come on,” John said with a laugh and led him through confidently, beaming at everyone around him as he tugged Sherlock close. “I’ll teach you the basics – And before you ask, I played Ice Hockey a little.” 

“You really liked your contact sports, didn’t you?” Sherlock muttered in amusement.

John shrugged in reply, “What can I say? I liked surprising people – No one expects much from a short arse you see.”

“You’re not that short…”

“That’s probably one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me.”

“No it isn’t.”

John flashed Sherlock a roughish grin and rolled his eyes, walking them assertively onwards without asking or looking for directions. He had spent a great deal of time trying to analyse, remember and then accurately envisage the place for hours the night before, trying to make sure he knew exactly how to get to the place on foot and how to quickly find the rink once they were there. It had been a pure miracle, as well as a whole lot of grovelling, sucking up and money, for John to even acquire them tickets for such a last minute decision, but John had been positive it would all be worth it, that Sherlock was worth it. He had dreamt about it when he’d finally been able to slip off to sleep as a bundle of excited nerves, and in the dream it had been wondrous and perfect and utterly uplifting.

Once they had their skates on, John gripped Sherlock’s hand and slid onto the ice with him, gently pulling him around, being mindful of others, and grinned up into Sherlock’s concentrating face. Unbalanced and unused to everything, Sherlock shifted awkwardly over the ice, flushing in embarrassment when he almost fell back and then forwards, and clutched hold of John’s shoulders, his fingers rigid as they dug into John’s coat. John laughed lightly and they stared into each other’s faces for a long time, Sherlock’s pupils dilating and contracting as he looked between John’s eyes rapidly, seeming unsure but honest and genuinely questioning as he searched John’s face again, seemingly trying to read his thoughts while he gripped John harder.

“What?” John breathed in the space between them. 

“Nothing,” Sherlock replied and looked away, watching a few other people skate around them with some tightness to his mouth.

John guided him slowly to the edge and let him lean up against it, and then skated backwards in a circle in front of Sherlock, showing off with an overconfident expression, “Have you ever been roller skating?”

Sherlock shot him an annoyed look, “No. – What haven’t you done, may I ask?”

“Hurdles,” John replied honestly, smirking when Sherlock laughed, and then skated in a twirl, gliding by Sherlock twice before he pressed up against him and took his hands, “Think of it like you’re dancing on a really slippery floor.”

“With blades on my feet,” Sherlock grumbled.

John rolled his eyes half-heartedly, “With blades on your feet, yes.”

Sherlock glanced down at his skates and then over at other people’s feet, before he focused on John’s, stumbling as he went through another person’s skate trail, “This was a terrible idea on your part.”

Kissing his cheek quickly, John skated with him in a small, slow oval; until he took up Sherlock’s arms and repositioned them, “Waltz with me. Lead me. Go on.”

“What? I can’t.”

“Sure you can,” John maintained, smiling at him with encouragement and winking. “Dazzle me with your dancing skills Ren McCormack.”

Sherlock frowned suddenly in perplexity, “Who?”

“Kevin Bacon, then,” John shrugged, pausing in shock when Sherlock continued to stare at him in incomprehension, “Don’t tell me you don’t know who Kevin Bacon is?”

“No, should I?”

John shook his head with a loud sigh, pointing at him, “Right, that’s it, we’re having another movie night and we’re watching ‘Footloose’ – And possibly ‘Dirty Dancing.’” 

“Ah. No, that, I’ve seen,” Sherlock told him as they started to gradually shift and glide from left to right, “I do not need to see it again.”

“Oh? Not a fan? – Was it Baby?” John asked idly, wrinkling his nose with a snort. “Who calls their child Baby anyway? Lazy parenting that is.”

Sherlock smiled at him, “Her name was Frances “Baby” Houseman.”

“So you did like it?—You can’t say you didn’t when you’ve yet to delete it from that big brain of yours and know the actual name of the bloody female lead character,” John pointed out as they swayed together, somehow more synchronised than most of the people around them.

“I liked ‘Billy Elliot,’” Sherlock murmured, focus drifting to their feet as he became aware of their slow but effortless progress, his fingers curling against John’s hand and his hip, suddenly leading him with a determined expression.

John watched him happily, noticing a few more couples mirroring them from the corner of his eyes, “Yeah? Interested in ballet?”

“A little,” Sherlock replied, distractedly, his mouth quirking as he got used to being on his skates and leading John around the ice, his spine straightening out gracefully. “This isn’t so bad…”

“I know,” John chuckled, “I told you it wouldn’t be.”

Sherlock smiled widely at him and then bit down on his bottom lip, looking coquettish for a second, “Perhaps I ought to listen to you more often.”

“Perhaps you ought to,” John agreed, stroking Sherlock’s shoulder with a surge of affection. “Careful though. I know how to skate but not how to dance. Not, well anyway, not like you can.”

“I see, well, I best start teaching you then,” Sherlock said cheerfully, leaning closer to John after a second to peer at him with a look to his eyes and face that John had never seen before, “We should make up a schedule.”

John nodded, caught up in Sherlock’s gaze, “Yeah. Yeah, if you like –Though I don’t know what I’ll do with my new found talent of dancing afterwards.”

“Dance with me, of course.”

“Course.” John laughed, wanting to kiss him and finding it harder and harder to concentrate on anything else. “Is this some secret cure to your black moods? As soon as you’re in a bit of a grump, I sweep you off your feet and all is right as rain again? Because that would be great, just great.”

Sherlock smirked in hilarity and curled his arm around John’s waist, pressing them almost chest-to-chest, “It could help,” he replied in a low murmur, his eyes suddenly lidded and his stance and footing more sure and elegant. “But mostly a nice gruesome and brilliant murder will cheer me right up.”

“Sorry. Dancing is the best I can give you,” John said as they span and moved faster and more smoothly.

“Now, that’s not true.”

John’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much, “No?”

“No,” Sherlock whispered lowly and warmly, the suggestive and affectionate undertones doing something wonderful to John’s heart, “You lead me now.”

John altered his arms and took Sherlock’s waist and hand with a rush of adoration. There was a sudden spark as their fingers entwined, and John jerked as he felt it all the way to his toes, basking in the aftershock as it vibrated through his core and sizzled across his chest. He looked up into Sherlock’s face, feeling muddled and positively dizzy, and Sherlock smiled at him, gentle and heartfelt and enamoured. 

They danced with drifting and smooth motions, keeping tightly together, and it was only after they had circled the entire rink three times in gentle and balanced rings, that John noticed the time and reluctantly pulled away so they could give their skates back and head home in time for dinner. Sherlock was calm and contented and plaint on the way back, holding John’s hand just as securely and seeming abuzz from their experience together on the ice, and John grinned happily beside him, tucking Sherlock’s hand and arm close against him.

“Enjoy that then?” John asked him once they stepped back into 221B and began hanging up their coats. “We could go there again if you like? A bit pricey, mind, but…there must be other ice rinks we could go to if you wanted to—”

Sherlock bent down to him and pressed a soft, warm kiss to John’s cheek, “Thank you,” he murmured as he pulled away, a blush on his cheeks and a gleam in his eyes. John stared after him wordlessly, stunned and so immensely happy that he couldn’t move, or even breath, for several seconds. 

Sherlock sat down in his chair silently and cleared his throat, “I didn’t mean what I said.”

“…What?” 

“At the restaurant,” Sherlock explained, locking eyes with him, “about not wanting to have sex with you.”

John coughed, choking on his sudden inhalation of gathered saliva and stumbled to hold onto the back of his chair, “Oh. Um. Right…good—Good?”

“I’d sure hope so,” Sherlock rumbled and slowly lowered his gaze to his knees, looking shy and coy. “Not now, of course.”

“Of course.” John jerked and nodded feverishly, bewildered and befuddled. “Yeah, no, I wouldn’t ask that of you…not so soon into our…well, into it. – Yeah. Right. Good. Yes. Tea?”

Sherlock picked at his trousers, brushing invisible dirt from them and then drumming his fingers along the armrests of his chair, “I’m not entirely sure how I’ll react, however – Considering my last relationship,” he admitted under his breath, “I’m not sure I…would like being—”

“Oh! Oh, no, um, no, that’s fine,” John spluttered, fumbling around to fall onto his chair when Sherlock glanced up, “I might…well, you know, I did do that thing with what’s-her-name, I did do…well, I was doing something at the time and we—God I can’t talk all of a sudden. What I’m trying to say is, it’s all fine because you can…have…me…in that way…it’s what I…um, it’s what I want, actually.”

A silence descended thickly after he had finished speaking, and Sherlock regarded him blankly, without blinking, for two whole minutes before he uttered an answer, “Mm,” he hummed.

John blinked and then frowned, feeling embarrassed and a little defensive, “That’s all you’ve got to say on the matter then? Just “mm?””

Sherlock beamed at him provocatively and amenably, “Yes.”

“Right. Well. Brilliant, thanks for that,” John muttered, stifling his responding grin, and pushed up out of his chair to retreat to the kitchen. “You’re such a confidence booster.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback fuels me!
> 
> [Gem's Tumblr](http://gem-gem-bites.tumblr.com/)


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